Underground
by Lamia
Summary: A story about a girl. This time it is uploaded. I think.


_ I apologize for last time. It took me a while to realize it didn't upload. I'd ramble about how much I hate technology but I got the Gandalf _ Lord of The Rings_ goblet so I have nothing to bitch about_

Charlotte was hungry, but her body was too numb to feel the pangs of hunger, her head too tired and aching to know what she was doing, her eyes too sore to see where she was going, her legs too weak to continue. 

She had spent the past three nights wandering aimlessly the streets of London, lost and cold, like a ghost. She had never felt such cold in her life. She had been cold before, but this was a different cold. A cold that wrapped itself around her so well, like if it was a mold of her body decorated with thousands of needles that insensately prickled her skin. It was incapacitating, even more than hunger. Impeding her from completing the pilgrimage to nowhere. 

It was close to midnight when she involuntarily collapsed on the gritty London pavement, her was body was too tired to attempt to stand again. Too tired to be under her control. Too hungry. Too cold. She dragged herself into what she thought was an alley. She tried to keep warm by bunching her body, and tucking exposed skin under the grimy remains of her school uniform. 

Charlotte tried to stop her eyes from fluttering shut. She was scared of closing her eyes, for she feared dying in her sleep. Her mind screamed at her to go on, or she would die. Her body told her to sleep, or she would die. 

She gazed at the sky. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes was the glimmer of the moon, hanging like an ornament of the night. Three nights ago, she remembers, it was full and wide, like a sphere. Now it was a slim glimmering crescent. As if the sphere she saw before had exploded, and its crystalline remains scattered all throughout the sky. 

Charlotte closed her eyes. 

****

_In her dreams, inside her closed eyes, the world was made of shadows and night. And the shadows danced in the night. Danced all around her. Twirling and spinning, dancing for the night, all surrounding Charlotte in a circle of dancing. All the shadows were tall, and all the shadows moved swiftly and elegantly like spiders. Charlotte stood there, in between it all, too confused to do anything. She stared and the shadows twirled faster and faster, until their graceful movements filled with violence and confusing. Until she fell and the shadows smeared into the night like fresh ink. Only one remained, which started pulling her feet._

****

When Charlotte opened her eyes, she saw a pile of rags tugging at her left foot. She screamed and kicked it with her right foot. The mound fell back; she saw there was a person underneath it, who covered the injured area on instinct.     "Why the blistering hell did you do that for!" whined a boyish and tattered voice underneath the rags.     Charlotte felt surprisingly strong now. She was not cold or tired, but she was still hungry. She quickly stood up raised her hands in fists. "What do you want?" she demanded to the pile of rags, as she looked at it. Never breaking eye contact. "And don't try anything funny. I know self defense," she lied and hoped he would believe it.     The boy tried to keep from laughing as he saw Charlotte try to look menacing. She looked like a small housedog trying to confront a cobra. "Don't get your knickers in a twist," he grumbled, "I wasn't trying to do anything."     "Then what were you --"     "I was just trying to get your shoes that's all, you don't have to tell. You'll wake up the whole bloody neighbourhood."     She gave the pile of rags a confused look, as if he had just explained the birth of time and space in Yiddish.     "Yes, your shoes," said the tattered voice before she could repeat his question. If there was a thing he could not stand, was when people questioned clearly evident explanations.     Charlotte paused and tried to make sense of what he had said. She failed to see the logic."Why?" she asked.     "Because," started the boy, "they're rather nice shoes. I was thinking that maybe they could get me something to eat. You know, I'd trade them at the market." He added, hoping it would convince her; "I was going to share it with you."     "Then why didn't you just wake me?"     "Look," he said in exasperation, "Do you want food or not?"     Charlotte looked at the boy suspiciously. She tried to see more, anything underneath the pallid and soiled face, anything underneath the tattered clothes that would reveal his real intentions. She could not tell how trustworthy he really was, and normally she would not trust anyone who tried to steal her shoes. But hunger is convincing enough to make anyone trust anything. Even the shoe thieves.     "Alright," she finally said, "I'm game. Let's go to this market place." 

****

UNDERGROUND said the sign in yellow colored letters outside the entrance. Charlotte was familiar with such entrances. She knew they led into the London Underground, the subway. Something she was more than familiar with over the years. She was not expecting to be led into a strange system of tunnels, dark and desolate like a dungeon, with bricks wet of moisture. She never imagined any of this would be through the familiar Underground entrance.     "This isn't the Underground," she said as she nervously glanced into the darkness, thicker than a thousand nights.     "Sure it is," the boy assured, and they walked silently into the unknown. The only communication between was the tapping of their shoes. For the first time in her life, she felt afraid of the dark, and everything that lurked in there.     After a while Charlotte asked the boy what kind of market would buy shoes. He did not reply until she repeated her question four times. "The Floating Market 'course," he replied and said nothing more. 

His voice made Charlotte wonder how old he was. His voice was worn and tattered, like that of a man who has lived long enough to see everything and patiently waits for his end. His face was rounded smooth and soft, framed with unkempt ashen hair that peeked from underneath a tattered black bucket hat. It gave him a childish appearance that was contrasted with his grayish green eyes, opaque and smooth, like river stones. He was no taller than what she was and she could not tell what his body looked like underneath the eclectic layers of clothes, but his spidery hands told her he was scrawny. 

They walked in silence once more. He guided her through many tunnels, obscure and desolate, but marvelous structured, like underground cathedrals.     "So," he started, "why did you run away?"     Charlotte was startled by the question, "How did you know?"     The boy looked at the darkness ahead of them, never looking at her. "Well usually if you find an article out cold in the ground you assume it's either a runaway or a bum." He paused. "Or both."     Charlotte turned away, "I'd rather not talk about it."     They continued walking in silence.     She suddenly said, "I had to get away from there, you don't understand."     He callously replied it couldn't really be that bad. Charlotte scoffed, "you wouldn't know, you weren't there."     The boy rolled his eyes. "Please. It's not like living on the streets its better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick."     "It did so at the moment."     He boy shrugged.     "There was this lady and um," she started, "She was really mean to me. She married me dad after me mum died--"     They boy said he thought she didn't wanted to talk about it.     Charlotte did not reply and continued. "She was always mean. She'd always hurt me accidentally on purpose. After a couple of years you can only take so much of it"     The boy nodded, "go on then."     "She'd always make me do all these things you know like if I was her servant. All these things I never wanted to do. And I really couldn't do anything about it. Or else she would lock me somewhere, or hurt me, or tell me dad.     And I tried telling him about it. But he would never believe me. He's always on her side. Like if she had a spell on him or something." She finished, "that's my story."     The boy said nothing.     "It's not the beatings what bothered me, "she continued, mostly to herself, "it was the sense of control she had over me, you know? She just took away my freedom like that. I needed that freedom. I couldn't just let that tart run my life. I'd rather live on the streets as an urchin that to be comfortable but under her command."     "Yearning freedom aren't we?"     Charlotte shrugged, "Yeah. I always wanted more. Like another life. Somewhere else. Away from there. She gave a short laugh, "I'm selfish."     "Maybe that's the reason why you slipped," he told her, "Because maybe you'll find what you want here. Some of us, on the other had, just slip," he said in a mildly pained tone     Charlotte gave her the same confused look she had given him before.     The boy sighed, "you'll find out soon"     "Why don't you tell me now?"     "Because, I'm not in the mood for explaining. Besides, you'd assume I'm bird mad."     "Well, you _did_ try to steal my shoes."     He chuckled, "You think _that_ makes me daft?"     Charlotte nodded.     The boy grinned, "You have no bloody idea of what's coming then, luv." 

****

When they arrived to the market, Charlotte couldn't believe her eyes. The market was a congregation of colours, noise and smell. Beautiful and violent, like vivid and strange like a distant dream. Like if the shadows in her dream were now dancing in technicolour.     "Bugger me," she barely whispered.     "What was that, duck?" asked the boy grinning with amusement.     "What is this place?"     "They'll be plenty of explanations later," he told her and grabbed her hand, "Come along now, let's get us something to eat first." He led her through the masses of people and into the heart of the market. As they walked further into the pandemonium, Charlotte noticed the items in the stalls grew more exotic and bizarre. She saw small trinkets resembling metal swans that danced and changed shaped. Ancient and expensive items that looked like if they had just been dug out of an archeological site, or clumsily built pictures, made entirely of macaroni, paste, and crayons.     She looked at it all, and assumed she was dreaming.     When they reached the food stands, the boy took off her shoe and told her to wait for her there.     "Why can't I come?"     "I got my reasons," was all he replied, "don't move from here." 

Charlotte observed the near by stands as she waited for the tattered boy to emerge from the crowd. She stood by a table covered with what appeared to be ready to burst water balloons of all sizes, all uniformed in red. She gingerly poked one with her index finger. The balloon turned black and wailed like a cat being shoved inside a food processor. Charlotte clenched at the sound and gave the owner an apologetic smile before sheepishly walking away. 

She stood by another stand, tended by a man who resembled a Japanese snow monkey dressed in a blue flannel pajama. He had silver bowls of amorphous shapes, all filled with mercury like liquid. She peered inside the bowl, within reflected the picture of a dirty girl with an oval face and tired dark eyes, with shoulder length fudge hair, almost dreadlocked and black with soot.      She sighed at the reflection. "What do these do anyway?" she asked the monkey man. He observed her with lazy tan eyes, as if he suspected her of malice, but was too indifferent to do anything about it. "They can show you your future," said a cancerous voice hidden inside the cascades of hair. 

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "How do they work?"     "You dip your hand on the bowl. Any bowl." 

She deiced to give it a try, all it cost her was a small beaded bracelet, a prize from a cereal box. She dipped her hand in a bowl that closely resembled an eight-pointed star. The liquid felt extremely cold, as if her hand had reached the empty void of the universe. It also had a gelatinous consistency. As she removed her hand from the bowl she gasped as the liquid's residue ran down her fingers. The droplets were hot, like boiling oil, but they left no scars or burns in her skin. Inside the bowl a blurred image started to form, which quickly came into focus. 

It was the image of an underground tunnel. 

Charlotte refrained from telling the man she did not understand what she saw, but she realized it would be futile. She had stopped understanding anything that happened her ever since she met the rag boy. She started to think she probably never met him; maybe he wasn't real. Maybe he was part of her dream. Maybe she was still dreaming, or hallucinating. She had read somewhere that starvation often led to hallucinations. Even if it was a dream, she decided it was a nice, interesting dream. 

"There you are!" called a familiar tattered voice behind her. She turned and saw the boy coming toward her, his hands carrying a two steaming bowls and a plate that held what appeared to be two loaves of bread. She ran to him and helped him with one of the bowls, which filled with a cream of mushroom like substance. 

Together they walked into a sparely populated area and sat down to eat. She devoured her food so quickly she did not have time to savour it.     "What was it anyway?" Charlotte asked the boy as she wiped the food from her mouth.     "Mushrooms," he replied simply. "You don't these up there. They're grown down here."     "I don't Adam and Eve that."     " 'Tis true," he asserted, "I've seen 'em do it."     "Well I'll be," Charlotte replied and they shared the bread in the plate. She realized it was not bread. The outside looked, felt, even smelled like bread, but the inside was stuffed with potatoes, cheese and broccoli.     "You know," started Charlotte in between bites, "I still don't know your name."     He told her his name was Jed. She said hers was Charlotte. They ate the remainder of their food in silence while they observed the people around them. They were like different pieces of a jigsaw puzzle stuck together with other different pieces. Though neither belonged in there, it still made an interesting pattern.     The silence was broken by the gritty scratching of a voice that called Jed's name.     "Chuffing 'ell," mumbled Jed's tattered voice.     "Is something wrong?" asked Charlotte.     "Some annoying bloke I know," moaned Jed, "But you pay no mind to him. He's all mouth but no trousers."     A young man, no older than Charlotte or Jed, approached them, clad indifferent shades of black with pink bubble gum porcupine hair.     "What have you been up to?" asked the punky boy with a Cheshire cat grin.     "Sweet Fanny Adams," replied Jed, averting his gray green eyes from the boy as he sat down in the gap between Jed and Charlotte. He grinned at Charlotte, "Who's the bird?"     "That's Charlotte, she's a bit of alright."     "How do you do," the punk told Charlotte as he extended his hand to her. "I'm Daniel," leered the spider to the fly.     Charlotte gave him an obligatory smile and shook his hand. She noticed he had safety pins stuck in his septum and different areas of his ears. She wondered if he could smell fear.     Daniel turned to Jed, and started an inane conversation regarding encounters with other people and other incredible acts that sounded too far-fetched to be truth. Daniel led most of the conversation, Jed occasionally commented and sighed. He often looked at Charlotte with pleading eyes, which asking her to free him from his torment. Charlotte looked away every time and started at the crowds, she was too afraid of even look at Daniel.     The heavy swish of velvet ceased his chattering. Charlotte saw they were both observing a girl that had just passed them. A tall girl, with pale, flawless marble skin, like a statue, and black hair, richer and darker than the velvet she wore. She clad in silver jewelry and a black old-fashioned velvet dress. Charlotte observed her float away. She looked at Jed and Daniel. Both were agape, as if they had just seen the floating ghost head of a long dead relative.     "Bluggeration," gasped Daniel.     "That wasn't really her. Was it?" asked Jed.     "Was who?" said Charlotte, who was now curious about the pale woman.     "I thought she was dead."     "She is," assured Daniel.     "Who?" insisted Charlotte.     "Lamia," replied Jed.     Oh said Charlotte, and then asked if they knew her.     Daniel snickered, " 'bout half of the male population does," he added with a impish, knowing smile, "She's a bloody tart."     "It's a long story," Jed started.     "I know it all," boasted Daniel.     "Oh please," Jed told his friend, "You're a daft apeth."     "Seriously, I got it straight from the horse's mouth."     "You can't trust everything a horse tells you."     "Oh piss off," garbled the punk before he started. He turned to Charlotte. "So it's like this. Lamia's..well. We're already familiar with her reputation. So anyway, she became involved with," he paused and thought about it. "It's right here in my tongue. I just can't get it out." He looked at Jed for help. "You know the Sisters. The really scary ones with the crests and everything?"     "The Seven Sisters," replied Jed.     "Right. So the Seven Sisters. The youngest one it's like the prettiest of them of all or something, right? And she's married to like this really rich respectable chap."     "Which Lamia became involved with?" guessed Charlotte.     "Bull's eye. So like the Sister was really pissed. And with the help of her other six Sisters they put a spell on Lamia."     "That's bollocks," scoffed Jed, "they're not witches."     "Bottle it, I'm not done yet. So like now. Lamia's undead. Yeah that's right, undead Jed. Quit giving me those bleeding looks. They took away her life, which is still here in the Underground, but it's hidden somewhere. So she looks for it, in the meantime to keep alive. She feeds on people." He whispered the last part, as if it was an act greater than a sin. Daniel shuddered, "gives me collywobbles just thinking about it."     "That's it?" questioned Charlotte. She found the story interesting, but she couldn't decipher how much of it was true.     "Not quite," said the punk as he ripped off a piece of his pink spiked hair and popped it into his mouth, " like, she has help. Apparently, she has like these girls that help her. Not willingly of course, she turns them undead like her. They say they're tour guides but that's a bloody lie. They guide people, but they feed on them."     "Works for them," said a skeptical Jed.     "Aye, they call themselves the Cashmeres, or the Vynils, or Velveteens or something like that."     "Velvets perhaps?" said Charlotte.     "That's it!" exclaimed the punk, "Velvets!"     Jed yawned, "Well that's interesting and all, but it sounds like codswallop to me"     Daniel was hurt. "You doubt my word?" "No. Not yours," said Jed as he removed his hat and ran a hand through his tussled ash hair, "The horse's, were you guys pissed when he told you this?"     Daniel mumbled something before he left indignantly. Charlotte looked at Jed, "do you think any of that it's true?"     "Nay, Danny's known for making up stuff like that."     "I see," mused Charlotte, "so what do we do now?"     Jed had not really thought about what they would do after they. "I don't know," he said as he looked at the fading crowd of people. It was getting late, and the colours of the market had started to fade. "Perhaps we can get more food before the markets moves. Maybe you can spend a couple of days with me and I'll show you around before you're out on your own."     Charlotte liked the idea. "Sounds fair," she chirped as she removed her other shoe and stockings. "Maybe that could get you more food," she smiled at Jed as he placed them in his hands. 

Jed ran once more into the crowd and Charlotte sat there deep in thought. The more time passed, the less she thought it was a dream. It was all so vivid. They way the exotic characters painted the bazaar. It was peculiar in a wonderful way. She could smell and taste the strange melodies that mingled among the market; she even felt she could paint the sunset with them. Even Daniel seemed real, every strand and stiffened texture of his bubble gum hair was too well detailed to be a dream. She did not know what to think about it, so she thought nothing. She sensed that thinking too much about it would ruin it. 

For the first time after a long time, Charlotte believed she had finally achieved the freedom she desired. She could now do what she wanted, follow her own dreams, without being under the control of anyone. She sighed contently and leaned back, feeling satisfied for the first time in a long time 

Charlotte heard the tattered filthy voice call her name. She looked around her, Jed was nowhere in sight. But his voice still called for her. She stood up and walked to the direction it came from, each step taking her farther and father into the market, farther into the voice, until she was lost among the crowd, until she was out of the market and into the dark again. 

When Jed came back she saw Charlotte was gone, he looked for her several times, but he never found her. When he found out what happened to her, the market had already changed location. 

****

Charlotte woke up in the dark alone. She did not know how she got there or how it had happened. She remembered vaguely what happened before. She remembered Jed, a boy dressed in dragged and his friend with the Cheshire grin Daniel. And an exotic market, made of lights and sound, strange like an acid-trip carnival. And Jed's tattered voice calling her name. She also remembered walking away from there, trying to find his voice, until it led her to the dark. Charlotte did not find Jed, but a woman with foxglove eyes (had she seen her before?). She smiled at her, an arrogant razor smile. That was all Charlotte remembered. 

Then she woke up in the dark alone. 

She stood up and admired what she was wearing. A green velvet dress, dark like if the night was coloured emerald, and silver rings decorated her fingers. Her hair felt soft and lush, like unraveling black silk, and her skin was pale and clean, like if she had just bathed in milk. 

She looked into the dark, it extended into a complex system of passages and tunnels. All of which she knew like if she had always lived there. She walked into the thickening dark feeling no fear of it. 

Charlotte knew she was looking for something, but she did not know what. But she walked and looked, she knew what it would be when she found it. If she could it. For she now was Lamia's eyes and she was Lamia's body in the places where Lamia could not be. And Lamia would tell her what to do, or where to search, whom to feed on. Lamia knew it all, and she would work for Lamia. And she told her she would be free when they found her life. 

Charlotte walked turned left in a tunnel and began to look. 


End file.
